Flecks from the Isle of Chrome
(2025)(A book in the Trojan Donkey Chapbooks series)
A Story by Rhys Hughes
Aliens and robots run amok in this tribute to the science fiction of John Sladek.
‘Had a nice day at the radio telescope, dear?’ asked Gregor Pontoon, as his mate sauntered into the kitchen. His strong hands were busy with the washing up, so he left them to it and embraced her with his stumps. Sonja Peterson accepted this as her due and filled her pipe. There were tired highlights in her hair. The mood henna was flicking gold and orange to the frontiers of her perm. She lit a briar as shiny as her skin and took a lungful of pungent smoke. Carcinogens were back in style after a three-week absence. These circular fashions were spiralling tighter, choking society as surely as the synthetic nutmeg mixture in her bowl choked Gregor. He shredded the grey cloud with a sneeze and pouted."
"Rhys Hughes seems almost the sum of our planet’s literature. He toys with convention. He makes the metaphysical political, the personal incredible and the comic hints at subtle pain. Few living fictioneers approach this chef’s sardonic confections, certainly not in English.’ — MICHAEL MOORCOCK
"If I said he was a Welsh writer who writes as though he has gone to school with the best writing from all over the world, I wonder if my compliment would just sound provincial. Hughes’ style, with all that means, is among the most beautiful I’ve encountered in several years.’ — SAMUEL R. DELANY
"It’s a crime that Rhys Hughes is not as widely known as Italo Calvino and other writers of that stature. Brilliantly written and conceived, Hughes’ fiction has few parallels anywhere in the world. In some alternate universe with a better sense of justice, his work triumphantly parades across all bestseller lists.’ — JEFF VANDERMEER
Genre: Science Fiction
‘Had a nice day at the radio telescope, dear?’ asked Gregor Pontoon, as his mate sauntered into the kitchen. His strong hands were busy with the washing up, so he left them to it and embraced her with his stumps. Sonja Peterson accepted this as her due and filled her pipe. There were tired highlights in her hair. The mood henna was flicking gold and orange to the frontiers of her perm. She lit a briar as shiny as her skin and took a lungful of pungent smoke. Carcinogens were back in style after a three-week absence. These circular fashions were spiralling tighter, choking society as surely as the synthetic nutmeg mixture in her bowl choked Gregor. He shredded the grey cloud with a sneeze and pouted."
"Rhys Hughes seems almost the sum of our planet’s literature. He toys with convention. He makes the metaphysical political, the personal incredible and the comic hints at subtle pain. Few living fictioneers approach this chef’s sardonic confections, certainly not in English.’ — MICHAEL MOORCOCK
"If I said he was a Welsh writer who writes as though he has gone to school with the best writing from all over the world, I wonder if my compliment would just sound provincial. Hughes’ style, with all that means, is among the most beautiful I’ve encountered in several years.’ — SAMUEL R. DELANY
"It’s a crime that Rhys Hughes is not as widely known as Italo Calvino and other writers of that stature. Brilliantly written and conceived, Hughes’ fiction has few parallels anywhere in the world. In some alternate universe with a better sense of justice, his work triumphantly parades across all bestseller lists.’ — JEFF VANDERMEER
Genre: Science Fiction
Used availability for Rhys Hughes's Flecks from the Isle of Chrome